Broken Beginnings

Chapter 9

Galen

She said she wasn’t a runner, but she’d been running when I met her. Whether she wanted to admit it now or not – she was still running. She was still scared of something – or someone. And the thought set my gut to churning. The thought of someone as small and innocent as her being hurt by someone so intimately that she would run half way across the country, and still not feel as though she had put enough distance between her and her pain – well, it fucking killed me. I didn’t know a thing about her past, but I had come to some conclusions of my own simply by watching her. My first conclusion was that she didn’t trust men. I hadn’t really seen her with women to compare, but the way she flinched away from a friendly touch made me feel ill inside. My second conclusion was that she didn’t know much about the world. What female in her right mind decided to drive across the globe – maybe I was exaggerating, but nevertheless – what educated female decided to take on the highway in a car that wasn’t even fit to drive a city block? And alone? The fact that she made it this far without being caught in the clutches of some twisted fuck out for blood was a shock. And the woman planned to set off on the highway again the first chance she got.

If only I knew what she was running from – maybe I could promise her safety. I had an inkling she was running from a man. Maybe she had been one of those girls who married straight out of high school to some Joe who never hit the big-time dream living in his mind. Maybe he took his frustrations and self-pity out on her. Maybe she had been someone’s punching bag. I didn’t know. I was certain she was running from a man – I would have bet money she was running from a man – however, I hadn’t seen the telltale indentation of a ring on her left hand. And, I’d looked.

***

Chloe

Every article of fabric I owned from my blankets, to my clothes, sat in the center of the floor. I couldn’t handle their scent. They reminded me of my father – of the shit hole I left behind – of the man he had once been and the man he now was. They reminded me of everything I wanted to be rid of. I wanted a new beginning. But how in the world was I supposed to start fresh when my belongings kept bringing me back in time? I sat down on the floor and picked up a stray article of clothing. It was a soft pink. It was a night-shirt. I brought it to my nose and inhaled gently. Tears spilled from my eyes as though they had been turned on by a tap. I couldn’t stop them. Memories flashed behind my lids and a sorrow so profound, I was breathless, swelled in my chest.

My door rattled as Galen knocked. “Can I come in, Chloe?”

I swallowed my pain, wiping my tears with the shirt. “One sec.” I did all I could to right myself, but I wasn’t delusional enough to believe I could fool him. Galen would know I had been crying. I was an ugly crier. My cheeks and chest got all blotchy and red, my lips felt swollen and my eyes were bloodshot and puffy. I was probably the world’s ugliest crier. Regardless, I took in a deep breath, calming the shakes that had consumed my body shortly after the first tear fell and called out. “You can come in.”

The door opened. Galen’s eyes found mine instantly. It was as though he’d known where I was before even looking. As though he could sense me on an almost otherworldly level. My heart flipped and he frowned. “Are you all right?”

I nodded with a big, bright, fake smile on my face. “I’m fine.”

He shook his head and sighed. “You don’t have to trust me, Chloe, but you can’t lie to me. I can’t stand that.” He walked into my little home with his boots on, kneeling to face me on the other side of the massive fabric pile. “Why were you crying?”

I felt a blush scorch my cheeks and I looked away from him. “I hate the smell,” I paused as my words cut off. I would not cry in front of him. I would not cry in front of him. I would not cry in front of him. I repeated the mantra in my mind until I almost believed it. Key word – almost.

“You hate the smell of what?” He frowned, inhaling deeply into the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

I picked up a shirt and tossed it to him. “I don’t like the smell of my stuff. My clothing – my blankets – my sheets. I hate the scent of them all.”

He raised a brow, slowly lifting the shirt I’d thrown at him to his nose. He inhaled and his eyes closed slightly. I felt a budding warmth spread through my lower belly and I shifted, startled by my response to his reaction.

He dropped the shirt to his lap, still holding it in his hand. The material looked flimsy and small as his long thick fingers wrapped around it. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. “It smells like you.”

I nodded, chewing down on my lip as I cursed the image of his large hands from my thoughts. It had no right being there. “It smells like what I’m trying to forget. I don’t like it.”

“I have a washer and a dryer.” He smiled gently at me, his tone teasing. “You’ll just wash everything and it will smell like me instead.”

I nodded on a hiccupped laugh. “I would prefer that.”